


Live Rat, Dead Rat.

by DeathDirt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 05:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10609962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathDirt/pseuds/DeathDirt
Summary: Yeah... Um. I've lost my reason for existence. I'm just trying to make new ones up as I go along, sooooo...Roadrat, I guess.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah... Um. I've lost my reason for existence. I'm just trying to make new ones up as I go along, sooooo...Roadrat, I guess.

"See, mate? I'm tellin' ya, I think we got it all down pat."  
"..."  
"Oh, get offa ya high donkey already! It ain't like it's gonna bother anybody, Roadie! Everyone needs ta experience some kind'a big bang once in their life! C'mon, now mate, let's do it!"  
"..., ..., ... ... ..."  
"You're impossible, y'know that?"  
"...?"  
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I paid ya to be like that, but I'm startin' ta think you'd get that way without the money. ...Speakin' of." Junkrat's _clop-tokking_ steps stopped for a split second. Of course, his noise restarted as soon as he steadied himself on Roadhog's giant shoulder. For having only half of his original limbs, balancing was awfully easy. Part of it was because Junkrat had been doing this so much lately, jumping onto Roadhog's shoulder and chatting away in a quieter tone when they were allowed a few moments of silence. One back-alley mouse yelled 'pet-fetish' to them once. That mouse was also alive once.

"Y'know, Roadie, 'm startin' ta think we should be givin' up on the hoard. Don't gimme that look, lemme explain, mate! Yeah it's a big chunk and ain't nobody ever gonna know 'bout it but me, but what's the point of keepin' it?"  
"..."  
"That's the thing, though, Hog. Even if we ever went straight, and we both know that that ain't eva gonna happen, how'd we spend the lot? It ain't goin' nowhere fast. So why not bury somewhere, dig it up when we hafta, and then-"  
"..." Junkrat huffed and stared ahead. "I **know** it's a dimwit's idea, you old pig. I'm just thinkin' out loud s'all." Junkrat went silent, characteristic crazed smile slowly coming back. They were currently trudging around in the slums of some American city, whiling away the time until they decided to move again. Slums were always easy to go through. No omnics (the buggers), no self-righteous killers on a mission, just the regular old bounty-hunters and idiot kids that made the two ex-Junkers giddy to fight.

Something moved. Junkrat heard it clear as day even though the main roads tried to blast it out. His head was up, eyes scanning the alley up and down. Eyes narrowing, he caught a few wisps of smoke, but nothing else. Without a word, Junkrat pulled out two frags from his seemingly endless supply strapped onto his body. He situated himself on Hog's shoulder so he could look up and down the alleyway without breaking his neck, trying to keep a good view of the concrete jungle. Not a thing in sight, except a lingering streak of smoke. That...slammed right into him and tossed him off Hog. Junkrat rolled easily away, eyeing the swirling black. He swore it looked familiar, but he frankly didn't give a damn. A quick wink at his next unlucky victim. A tossed frag. ...A _wasted_ frag. Junkrat straightened up, shocked. There had been a solid body there a second ago. So, logically, there should be little red chunks raining down. But there weren't. No, the black just swirled a bit then put that body back right where it had been a second ago.

"Oh, you're playin' with fire, mate." The voice that came from behind the mask was cold, gravelly, indifferent to Junkrat's humor. "And you play with explosives," the stranger growls out. Roadhog's long gone. He had gone snatching at a teen girl (or something like that) who kept blasting him with little shots here and there. So it was just Junkrat and the stranger. "Jamison Fawkes," he said again after a long silence, "you've become a nuisance to Talon. Allow me to send you on your way." He lifted a gun to eye-level, which would have made a mentally sane person quake with fear. Junkrat? He busted out laughing. "Oh, you're funny there, ain't'cha. Ya think Junkrat's afraid of a l'il fight, do ya?"  
"You will be once your thug is taken care of." That struck an angry, raucous chord in Junkrat. Nobody - absolutely _nobody_ \- was allowed to call Roadhog anything like that. It made him seem even less human. And Junkrat knew better. He _always_ knew better when it came to Hog. "Oi, ya bloody fuck! Hog ain't gonna go down 's easy as you and ya lady friends think!" The stranger gurgled a bit of a laugh. It sounded mean, but Junkrat was fuming. "I'll be sure to give you the location of the _hole_ we put your Hog in."  
"Oh no you won't! If anyone's gonna be puttin' Hog in a hole, it's gonna be me! Then I'm gonna shoot m'self and jump right in with 'im!" Another darkly amused chuckle. The clawed glove fingers twitched just a bit. Just enough to tell the irradiated maniac what he needed.

He rolled to the side, cackling like a fool while he tackled the bounty-hunter to the ground. Reaper knew what he'd done. All these months of tracking the infamous duo had made him acutely aware of consequences that could be incurred. Junkrat, the ever-ready-to-please terrorist that wanted attention. Roadhog, the sociopath who wanted nothing more than something to keep him occupied. They somehow came together like puzzle pieces. Not at all organized or planned or anything. Just haphazardly committing attack after attack after theft after theft. It almost made him a bit jealous.

Not quite though, given their questionable sanity. Reaper separated, re-solidifying behind the crazed demolitionist. He gave the Aussie a hard kick to his chest, sending him backwards a foot or two. As the terrorist stalked forward, Junkrat threw down one of his trademark mines, then balled up as it blew to pieces with Reaper directly on top of it. He skidded back, lightly bumping into Roadhog's legs while he swung his chains to and fro, keeping the leaping, flipping teen at bay. Sombra was wearing herself out unnecessarily, but she hadn't expected the Junkers to be so hard to get close to. The more she moved, the harder she was to hit. Junkrat hopped up onto Hog's shoulder, and he was fixing to let loose a slew of frag/flash grenades he had strapped together when something jolted him forward. He had to clench his teeth against the pain, finally realizing that the fire was coming from his right shoulder blade. Then he turned, almost too fast, and saw the damned sniper up on a fire escape. A few too many levels up, unfortunately, for her to be taken out quickly. Something warm trickled down his shoulder. Then there was more. _Oh... SHIT!_

Junkrat reached for another frag, but his arm seemed to refuse to go more than halfway. Fire shot through him as he tried to force his hand further and pull the stupid explosive out from his arsenal. Roadhog caught on quick. He grabbed it himself, tossing it far out. Widowmaker saw it coming for her, largely, so she shot it out of the air before it got too close. Sombra was shoved out of the way, crashing into a pile of garbage as the Junkers made their quick escape. And over the rumble of the city, the whole block could hear the angry shouts of an unwilling member of the Outback.

“Ow! Damn, Hog, careful wit’ that!” Junkrat rubbed at his shoulder absently while Roadhog worked around the bullet lodged in it, grumbling the whole time. It wasn’t stuck in too far but it was far enough that Hog was having to cut it out. Not exactly easy, given that his hands were better suited to grabbing and smashing instead of this delicate work. But he’d had to pull other slivers of metal and shrapnel from Junkrat before. This was just easier because it was an actual bullet. “Y'know we could'a done away with ‘em all on one go,” Junkrat grumbled, crossing his arms and subsequently sending a ripple of pain shooting through his shoulder. “…”   
“Aw, we could too! They ain’t nothin’ but a bunch'a soft-sods!”  
“…”  
“That bitch got me by accident you fuckin’ twat!” Junkrat’s teeth grit together, almost grinding. Roadhog sighed, one of the few noises he made that was audible through his mask, and started digging into the flesh he’d cut. It wasn’t easy to get the bullet to wiggle out by itself, so Roadhog decided to force it out. He pushed the skin around it, forcing it further up, making Junkrat squirm with the sensation of slender metal sliding up out of his skin. With a sickening, sucking _pop_ the sniper bullet came out, tinkling as it rolled on the floor. It left a little trail of blood behind it until it finally rolled to a stop.

Before Hog could patch the neat bullet wound, Junkrat was bounding towards his weaponry. “Alright, mate, let’s go get 'em already!” Roadhog shook his head, nonchalantly leaning back against the warehouse wall. “Wot? You ain’t gonna come watch the carnage?”  
“…”  
“Me? I ain’t gonna get beat by them sorry fucks! I’m gonna throw 'em in a dark hole and let 'em rot there!” Roadhog wasn’t amused. In a quick motion that honestly wasn’t fair for a guy so big, he swiped Junkrat’s explosives away and tucked them against the wall behind him. “'Ey! Give 'em back ya damn fuckwit!” No response was given. Not even the mumbling curses Junkrat was used to. “Fine then, ya silly bugger! But if them Talon freaks come bargin’ in, I ain’t grabbin’ anythin’!”

 

Dead of night. All quiet in the warehouses of the city. Junkrat had decided to bed down as far from Roadie as he could get. He didn’t have the gall or stupidity to leave him, but he was just really pissed off. About the Talon buggers. About Hog’s stubborn streak. Especially about not being able to get back at the bitch who shot him. From what he’d been able to hear, Roadhog hadn’t moved much, if at all. If there was some chance, though… Junkrat did his best stealth, setting his peg of a leg down slowly and softly so the _tok-tok_ didn’t sound much more than a bird beating against the warehouse. He kept creeping along at a snail’s pace - something that aggravated him - finally catching sight of Roadhog. He was sleeping quietly and soundly. He’d fallen over to the side, leaving Junkrat’s toolery exposed and unprotected. “Heheh, sorry mate,” Junkrat mumbled under his breath as he shouldered his explosives. “I got a score to settle, and if ya ain’t comin’ with me, then ya ain’t gotta get involved.”

 

The same alley. Earlier that day, it hadn’t been much of a big deal. Now it was everything. Junkrat was set on tailing these jokers, but so far, he hadn’t been able to get much further than the alley. He saw the little sprays of blood from the fight. One from his shoulder, one from the younger girl’s nose, another from Hog’s arm. Frustrated, Junkrat kicked and scrubbed at the dried blood spots on the concrete. Just for something to do. A few minutes passed without anything else happening. Which was weird. Usually trouble was after Jamie more than he was after it. So, of course, when he _wanted_ trouble, it hid. Then he heard it. The telltale click of a safety being turned off. Despite years of working with explosions and mines and bombs, Junkrat had very finely tuned hearing. Partially because of how quiet his paid bodyguard tended to be behind his mask.

He cracked a wide grin at that noise. Without even bothering to look, he spun and tossed a frag straight at her. She’d already pushed the trigger down, sent the bullet flying, but rather than flesh, the bullet found a grenade. It blew up in a timely manner, leaving Widowmaker shaking her head at the ringing in her ears. Junkrat gave her a fake salute as he began his ascent to the ledge she was perched upon. He gripped the edge of the platform and swung his legs over, slamming both foot and metal into Widowmaker’s stomach. She went reeling, then quickly righted herself, sending a flurry of feints, jabs, and kicks to the slender Aussie. Junkrat ducked and weaved through all of them. Laughing his head off the whole time. “Might wanna work on ya aim, Miss! Ya swingin’ like a drunk Irishman on 'is birthday!” Junkrat let loose another cackle, then got a rude awakening with a slug to his jaw. It made him stumble backwards a few steps to totter on the precipice of the ledge. As soon as he realized where he was, Junkrat started flailing his arms, bending his torso, contorting himself however he could to stay upright. For a moment, he seemed to have made it. Then he got a sharp kick to his gut.

Junkrat plummeted, crashing into the concrete. Something wet filled his mouth. Wet and hot. He managed to flip himself over, and when he opened his mouth, red gushed out. He bit his tongue. Hard. Doing his best to push it out of his mind, he straightened up, throwing a glance over his shoulder where Widowmaker stood, smugly grinning. Junkrat laughed right up at her. “It’s gonna take a lot more than that damn stupid display to knock _me_ around, ya ninny!”  
“What about this?” A girl’s voice purred behind him. Junkrat only got to turn halfway before he was flying backwards, skidding on the pavement. The skin of his left flank went angry red, with hardly any skin at all left on his shoulder. Junkrat bared his teeth in a snarl at the girl. She tapped his nose with the underside of her boot, giving him a sprightly little mumble of “boop”. It took a minute to work up the strength to raise himself up, wiping the bright red streak from the corner of his mouth. "Bunch'a bloody drongos," Junkrat muttered under his breath, steadily regaining a nice deranged grin. He slipped two mines out and sent them rolling - quite literally rolling, like discs - on either side of Sombra as she walked off. She took one glance down, then back at Junkrat. "Boop," he muttered, detonating the two rolling explosives. 

Both went out in a glorious blast of fire. Junkrat looked on like a prideful father would to his children. ...Which, to be fair, was his _exact_ mentality. "An' that'll take care'a that, now won't it?" With a strut in his step, Junkrat started making for the back of the alley when he heard the click. Not the high-pitched whiny click of a gun's safety. The low, menacing, foreboding click of a trigger. Something flew into his back. Junkrat screamed. He could feel the metal rubbing against his spine. His _spine_. Knees got down first. Then his elbows. Then it was a fight to keep the rest of his body from dropping. Everything stayed incredibly silent while Junkrat laid there on all fours, panting with effort while blood dripped from his mouth to form a little puddle beneath him. Boots silently clopped from further off. 

All of a sudden, a hand was around his throat. Lifting him. His legs...he couldn't feel any ground beneath him. Just empty air. Junkrat tried to kick, to fight, but his body didn't want to cooperate. So he had to hang there. Limply. Life being crushed out of him by Reaper. But...but... Junkrat tried to crack a smile, in spite of what it was looking like. To Reaper, it looked pathetic, a painful effort to keep his personality intact. He just squeezed harder. Panic started to take over Junkrat. Death. He never thought about it. About what it could do to him. What was it like? Would it hurt after the fact? Was he going to be okay dying? Was there something else waiting for him on the other side to throw him in a pit to suffer for the rest of time? 

Jamie flailed, really thrashed around, but with every panicky breath, Reaper's grip tightened. Junkrat went blue. He couldn't get air. His throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Black creeped into the edge of his vision. He scrabbled to pry the other guy's hand off of his throat. It got closer. He worked furiously, pushing his slender fingers under Reaper's, exerting every last bit of strength and will that he could muster to get him off. Kept closing in. Then the world vanished. He fell limp in Reaper's death-grip. "Jamison Fawkes," Reaper muttered distastefully. "Target eliminated. To the next." They'd argued over what to do about the infamous Roadhog. They decided to leave him be. He was a criminal for hire, not a vengeful widow. Just in case, though.

 

Talon watched the hidden body of Fawkes for more than six hours. No sign of Roadhog. Reaper tapped his gloved fingers against his boots to fill the silence. Widowmaker and Sombra had gone ahead to their next target, since Reaper was arguably the fastest on his own, leaving him to play sentry in case Roadhog wanted to show up. He never did. At least...as far as Reaper was concerned. Roadhog had been lingering by the open mouth of the alley for almost the whole time Reaper had been keeping watch. Roadhog had watched as Talon half-heartedly 'buried' Junkrat - pulled garbage and metal scraps over his motionless body and then left. He'd kept careful watch as they debated for a bit over who should keep watch. He heard his name mentioned quite a bit. So he was forced to hunker down, stay quiet. God, he didn't want to, but he had to. Reaper finally stood. He clicked at his ear piece through his hood. "Sombra, Rutledge isn't coming. He's moved on by now." A silent comment. "Right. On my way." Reaper dissipated. Roadhog was barreling over to the conspicuous pile. He shoved the debris away, picking Junkrat up in one monstrous hand. Jamie didn't respond. 

Behind his mask, Mako's teeth clenched. He didn't know why. Didn't care why. But Jamie was arguably the most important thing in his life, the best thing that had ever happened after the Australian Liberation Front, the Omnic Crisis, the omnic core explosion. Somehow Jamie was important. Roadhog gripped the slender body with both hands, then began to shake him. Abruptly. Violently. Junkrat's head lolled back and forth, but it wasn't voluntary. Hog stopped, letting Junkrat's head fall forward. His grip tightened. Still nothing. He wanted to tear his mask off, scream at the world, tell them all to fuck off, to leave him alone. The thought vanished, though, as Junkrat weakly pulled his head up and did his best smile. His teeth were bloody, and it dribbled down the corner of his mouth. It was all he could really manage on his own. Talon hadn't left without doing some extra damage. 

Roadhog carefully situated the younger Aussie on his shoulder and set off for the nearby docks. They were going to be traveling for a while.

 

When Junkrat finally woke up, he was resting comfortably on Hog's belly, surrounded on all sides by metal. Even though he managed to wake himself up, Junkrat still couldn't feel most of his body. He tried moving, in some hope that he didn't get paralyzed like he'd heard about so many others right after the core explosion in Australia. To his surprise (and gratitude) he could still work his limbs, but they _really_ didn't want to. They felt like lead. Paper weights. So he just quit and fell back into dreamless sleep. 

The next time he woke, he opened his eyes to a dreary shipyard, cluttered with metal crates and omnic drones. He would've liked to spit at them and break their sorry metal asses, were his own ass not completely broken. Hog still had him slung over a shoulder, steady hand cradling his back. To try to get the big guy's attention, Jamie balled his hands up and gently hit them on Hog's back. He grunted a bit, but that was all. Just to let him know he wasn't quite dead. The scenery was nothing to gawk at, for sure, but the smell was familiar. What was it? Warm bakery smell, a little tobacco, mostly clean and happy... England. Junkrat smiled and giggled at the thought of the last visit he'd had to England with Hog. King's Row. Some git called Tracer tried to get at them for taking some dumb old dusty artifacts. Dumb girl. He looked up as Roadie ducked into another metal crate, watching the crane descend for a quick second before having his view blocked by metal. Fair enough, fair enough.

Roadhog set him down - very carefully, almost like he was handling glass - beside some crates, which he leaned on to stay upright, while Hog leaned against the empty wall across from him. He was lifting his hand up... Oh no. It was coming off.

It didn't happen often. Barely happened when they ate together. The only time that mask came off was when Roadhog was trying to scare the hell out of him, usually for a good reason. Junkrat shifted around uncomfortably, averting his eyes to try and escape the verbal lashing he was about to get. Thank God they didn't happen often, but when they did...hoo boy, they stuck with Jamie for _days_. He keeps his sight away. Maybe if he doesn't look then Hog will just stick his mask back on, back off, forget about it. But something told him that he wouldn't. Reluctantly, and slowly, he turned to face the thick face of his road-partner. For once, he didn't look so angry. Strike that, he looked angry as hell, but that was just his natural look. No, he looked downright concerned. Worried. ...Scared. Jamie hoped desperately that 'scared' was not actually part of the list. If Mako got scared...God. 

They just stared. Jamie was tense for a good while, expecting a vicious lashing for his most recent fuck-up. But no. They stared. It was...weird. Usually the routine was: mask off, verbal abuse, mask on. All in quick succession. Almost like ripping off a bandage. Not this time. Why not this time? What was different? "Uh-"  
"Shut it." Jamie clamped his mouth tightly shut. He may've been the boss of Roadhog, but Mako Rutledge, the man that came out when the mask came off, was another story. When Mako was out, _he_ was the boss. Not Jamie. "I told ya," he muttered, hand running over his face, "told ya to leave it alone."  
"Well-"  
"Well nothin', ya damn flamin' mongrel mutt!" Mako's teeth were bared in the nastiest snarl Jamie'd ever seen. Like a child with an angry parent, he piped down and lowered his head, unwilling to fight this battle. It couldn't be won. He'd tried before, multiple times. Never worked. "I dunno why ya insist on gettin' yaself killed, Jamie. What the hell's Talon ever done to ya? Eh? Slowed us down on the way to a hidin' spot an' stuck a bullet less'n an inch in your shoulder."  
"Well now it's two-"  
"It'd only be one if ya'd just listened to me!" Jamie shut up again. He balled up against the crates, trying to make this quote-unquote 'pep-talk' something decent. It wasn't easy, though. It all bit into him, how Make seemed to turn into a ball of anger just from this one thing. And he'd done things dumber before. Things that deserved something more like this. Mako growled, rubbing his eyes one more time before donning the fateful mask again. He'd said what he'd wanted. The point was obviously across. Jamie's sulking attested to that.

"I don't do it ta tick ya off, y'know." Roadhog turns his head to regard Junkrat, still curled against the crates. "If it was somethin' I wanted to talk about, I'd'a told ya a long time ago. It ain't really somethin' I do on purpose, eitha. Just goes off. ...'N thanks, mate. For pickin' me up." Junkrat pushed himself down, trying to make himself comfortable on the cold metal floor, but before he knew what was going on, Roadhog had grabbed him and pulled him over. Now he was resting against the warmth of Hog, silent once again. Maybe it wasn't so bad that he tried to look after him. It got annoying sometimes, but... Junkrat enjoyed it. Someone that he could just please by...being Junkrat. He was happy for it.


End file.
